


Buoy

by Lonely_Sea_Lion



Category: Japan (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mick's POV, Romanticized angst, dysfunctional friendship ended here, what've you expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonely_Sea_Lion/pseuds/Lonely_Sea_Lion
Summary: "Never again he came back to me, no matter how I tried to forgive him, to make him feel confident in our small company, to make him believe he could change. He rejected everything, and I realised that he wasn't the friend I always knew and wanted by my side. But how I needed to see his real face... No one can imagine."





	Buoy

The more I think of all the opportunities I've lost throughout my life, the more I want to die. Actually, nothing really ties me to the ground, I could just let go and allow my spirit to fly away. But there is still something that holds me. No, it clutches me and presses close to its bony chest. The feeling of hope, which is so weak and ill, it's amazing how it is still there. Though I don't want to sound pretentious, I do hope that someday I might have a chance to do something decent, outstanding, something that would carve my name into the great marble of history. And I still hope that love and friendship will find me, and I would be able to never let it go. I've lost too many people whom I loved because I was the only loving one of two. Sometimes it just strikes my mind: I should find some human being that will be fond of me and what I do, someone, who would understand me without any word when it's necessary, take care of me and promise to stay here till the end. Because this must be love, isn't it? I still cannot figure it out, it might be very egoistic to picture love that way.

Then a true friend - the most difficult part, maybe. Friends are always equal, they are more independent, still very vulnerable when it comes to their own problems they prefer not to share with others. We must protect each other and care about each other, because love comes and goes, while friendship stays forever. At least, this is what I believe and expect from it.  
It seems like a couple of years ago I've got everything I dreamed of. A true friend, a love of mine, a promising career and so on. But years proved me wrong in many ways - I was not prepared to cry seas of tears from disappointment and pain.

One of the reasons of my misery is sitting right in front of me, seemingly trying to bite off the tip of the pencil. Still the most beautiful man in the world he is, even though he obviously aged from being nervously and obsessive too much. He has the serious phobia of the past he hadn't overcome yet. Never will, I assume, as I watch him in silence - looking at his papers concentrated, his left eyebrow curved - just like old times. The feeling of utter sadness and disgust overwhelm me as I write down some notes about the record and try not to look up.

No one could ever break my heart so badly like he did. Not only my woman betrayed me, but he was the most unexpected person to stab in the back - what he did cannot be forgiven. I tried, honestly tried many times to forget and move on, but when I called him last week I fought the urge to vomit, maybe to cry, I don't know, it was unnerving in any way I could think of. After so many years I called him to help me, instead of the opposite scenario I always imagined. He smiled to himself, I could hear it in his voice, when he promised to come to the studio. I lost. Again.

For the whole night I was thinking about the past, trying to stop the tears I couldn't control anymore. Here I was, looking at our old picture - cheesiest way possible to reflect and rethink something, but I couldn't help it. And now it's been a week, we worked together on two separate tracks - recording and re-recording because of his royal highness' incredibly intellectual aesthetic tastes and stompy feet. He would always tap his foot on the floor a bit when he didn't like something. Everyone already knew this, and, like some slaves, they tried to change everything he was unhappy with. I, a true sinner really, snapped on a couple occasions, when he didn't like something I played, and told him to get lost, but the betraying feeling of regret was killing me, because his face would turn grey and he would look at me, his lips a thin line of dark pink. He announced that he would give zero fucks if I fail and go down the charts, because without him we are all nothing, and he wants to leave if I keep on being so ungrateful. I had to glance at his brother in hope, but he only shrugged his shoulders and made sad eyes on me. I hated his saint ass, way too forgiving and nice to his brother and every other soul around. I had to give up and do it the way our queen liked the most, otherwise I could let everybody down.

Now we are sitting in front of each other and he is writing down some lyrics I cannot quite figure out. Then he raised his head and without a word went out of the studio. I finally got a chance to look into his writing:

_"You'll be the moth, I'm the flame_   
_I'll bless you and keep you safe and sound_   
_Until sunrise comes around again_   
_I'm like a mountain made of stone_   
_I'm like a new day dawning_   
_I'll be here every morning, close to you"_

Is he writing something reminiscent or just some impressionist shit he is always into? If it's about us, then he is definitely the flame that burned me badly when I touched it. Right when I needed him most, his attentive ears listening to my complaints and worries, his kind words - everything was gone. Now I know that some of these sugar sprinkled phrases and warm hugs of his were just lies I couldn't recognise until now. This is what hurts the most. Still, I need it desperately.

He returned evidently happier and flopped into his chair. "How did you like my writing?" - he asked suddenly. Bastard knows me too good. "Quite nice, as always," - I tried to smile to him, but failed. "Wonderful, I hope you'll like the rest," - he reached out to pat me on my shoulder and without a second thought I tried to get away from the contact. His face turned dark, he looked away, narrowed his eyes at some distant object and then continued to write. This time I was gazing at him without any embarassment, trying to remember every feature, every detail I knew: his gentle snow-white hands, no less gentle face - furrowed brows, shiny pale eyes, thin lips curved in smile - pure and happy with inspiration all over again. Such moments brought his true-self out for public admiration, this was the only honest thing I loved him for.

After half and hour or so, he gave me the papers. "Read it and tell me, what you like," - he nodded to me and went silent.

_"Love will keep us together_   
_And the tide will draw you close to me"_

I still hope that something will reunite us again. I regret too much.

_"I burn a candle in your place_   
_I picture the passions on your face_   
_Feelings that rise on a wave and fall away"_

Without candles and passion we could spend hours together, completely forgetting all our problems, just talking, listening to his record collection, laughing and crying at the same time as we sat close to each other throughout the night. I knew he had something for me at that point, maybe since the first days, maybe since the first haircut he gave me, maybe since the first time he held my hand, maybe since he tried to kiss me for the first time... and failed. That might've been the moment he knew I didn't feel the same. The feeling was too nice for his personality to be true, but after I recognized this as love itself, it was too late. Even now, to see how fondly he looks at me when I don't watch and tries not to look me in the eye when we talk, is heartbreaking. If only he knew how difficult it is for me, to look at him now that I feel the need to be close to him like back then, the need to at least have the best friend back. Can we still be friends like it was sung in Rundgren's song? The answer is surely 'no'.

_"All of the lessons I should have learned_   
_Return again to light, for us to see"_

You never learn from your past, that is what I know now. You never tried. Me neither.

_"You’re like the map of buried gold_   
_I search for treasures in your soul"_

What were you trying to find in me? Answers to something important? Another affection or a true love? I never knew. I found only disappointment and sad perspectives I still blame you for.  
I handed his papers back and smiled, when I slightly brushed his hand causing him to blush. What a disgustingly charming creature. I wonder, how long will his charm last and will he ever change?  
"Did you like it?" - he asked, smiling brightly. "As always, beautiful bullsh... poetry, yes," - I terribly attempted at making a joke. He laughed a little: "That wasn't as smart as always, you know."  
I knew it wasn't. "How do you feel?" - he looked at me, his expression getting serious suddenly. I wanted to tell him that I felt almost physical pain, but I couldn't utter a word. "Good..." - I said, feeling my temperature rising a little and falling down.

***

_"And when I'm gone, you'll know I will come back to you"_

Never again he came back to me, no matter how I tried to forgive him, to make him feel confident in our small company, to make him believe he could change. He rejected everything, and I realised that he wasn't the friend I always knew and wanted by my side. But how I needed to see his real face... No one can imagine.  
He hugged me for the last time back in 1987 after we finished the recording, and that was the most real and warm embrace I ever received from anyone - him included. There was no one around, so when he noticed tears in the corner of my eye, he wiped them with his soft fingers. I hated him for that, for every fake caring gesture like this towards me, but really wanted to finally give in to the forbidden feeling, fall in for someone, who won't love me ever again.

I never managed to and never told him the truth. I felt the last tiny rope, that was holding us together, was torn by now. He never came back.  
I decided to hide all of our photographs together.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is how it all ends. If you wash away all gayness I applied, their broken friendship will show up as it was.  
> This was my first fic about these two, so it hurts a lot to put it as one of the last chapters, if we can call them like that.  
> Though, I think, it is possible for us to change it and lighten up the mood a little bit by picturing a different ending to that story. So I'll try to write them a happy ending.


End file.
